


Let the Candle Wicks Burn Down

by TheBeastly



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Everybody enjoy a hot vilkas make out, F/M, Fluff, Mates, Mind Gore, Sexual Tension, im actually pretty sure it's gender neautral!, its gets a little nsfw, reader is a sarcastic jokey fuck, shit I didn't even mean to, some thighs and sexy stuff is mention, vilkas is a fucking emotional baby dork thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 02:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBeastly/pseuds/TheBeastly
Summary: Reader done got themselves stabbed. You fucker. Now Vilkas has gotta play doctor. You fox.





	Let the Candle Wicks Burn Down

Once again you were in your shield-brother's bed. Not nearly for the reason you wished, but you'd take what you could get. Even if it took seventeen burns and an impaling to get you here. Deep sighs and your occasional wince echoed around the almost uncomfortably quiet room. You weren't looking at him, but you could tell Vilkas’s eyes were intense and tired, as they usually were. His hands were swiftly stitching your side up now that the blood flow had slowed with the aid of a healing potion. Those things only go so far. The pull of your skin the and pierce of the needle had your eyes pinched and your stomach churning. The wound still burned but the brush of Vilkas’ hands against your side periodically made up for it completely.

Your eyes flitted gently across the artifacts in Vilkas's room as he continued closing the wound on your side. You could hear the ongoings of your shield-siblings' feast above your head. The off tune warbling of the local bard Mikal had your eyes almost rolling out of your head. You wanted to drive a dagger between his misshapen brows, but alas that would have you locked in the Whiterun prison for a month at least. 

You let out a cry at the tug Vilkas made with the thread he was finished stitching your wound with. He harshly rewrapped your wounds to keep the stitches in place and keep pressure on the wound.

"You deserve every moment for your damn recklessness," he practically barked at you, pulling a blanket across your now bandaged form. He snapped and you knew it. You turned your head to look at him, if only to see him angered. Still worth a glance you thought. He was hunched over elbows to knees, probably in several states of frustration, with his hands rubbing across his face. You knew his face was pinched with anxieties galore beneath his calloused and war torn hands.

You couldn't help the soft smile from gracing your lips. "Ah, but if not me than Farkas! You and I both know that skeever smelling mouse of a wolf hunter's face when you ripped him apart for the jabs he was throwing at me was absolutely worth the ambush." You knew he only worried because he cared. You didn't know to what degree, but you'd never doubted that Vilkas valued you. His shoulder relaxed slightly seeing you were less broken, and more your annoyingly talkative self.

"Reduced him to meat chunks and wet bread, you did!" You were boasting with him, but you could still hear the poison words that oozed out of the silver shit’s self righteous gaping hole of a mouth. He'd called you nothing but a bitch in heat, following any scent of a man you could smell. He'd show you a real man; he'd threatened. A laugh had ripped from you as Farkas's wolf had taken control, but Vilkas's human hands hadn't given him a chance. Within moments the man was a stack of meat slabs and intestines. You laughed to shake the image from your head, which turned into a cough, and then a wet bloody hack that had Vilkas's eyebrows shoot up in mild panic. You reached over and patted him with your free hand, while hacking specks of dark blood onto your other arm. You reassured him between breaths that you'd be fine and brawling once more within the week. The sweat streaked paint smeared around his eyes represented how well put together he was at the moment, and you couldn't help but admire how handsome he was in the candle light, especially with the blood loss haze your brain was in. 

“Stop pushing yourself, please. I can't keep stitching you up! There's more blood in my sheets than if you'd given birth in it, which I'd honestly much prefer at this point.” He started the plead with his eyes glued to yours with his normal fire and brimstone hell fury, but towards the end his eyes shifted to the floor as if in embarrassment. 

You let the wet apology and thanks you knew he was completely deserving of, dry on your bruised lips. After the shredded shit hole was finished a dozen more of them had spilled from the walls. He’d been bait. A suicide lure. A couple of them had gotten good burns onto you with their silver swords, but one had jabbed you good through a weak spot in your armor that you'd forgotten to get Eorland to mend.

Even with the dark thoughts poking your mind you could smell the shift in his mood; it was one of the curses of Hircine. His tone and demeanor were less than innocent, and you wished you couldn't tell, simply for the fact that you wouldn't be able to sleep in his bed with that scent in the room with you. So you cracked a joke to ease the tension.  
“I’d probably rather the pains of child birth than the novice stitches you stab into me each time some lowlife attacks my ass,” You huffed out, trying to adjust yourself into a comfortable position on Vilkas’s bed.

“My stitches should be the finest in all of Skyrim with how often you’re my patient, you oaf,” He muttered, his Nordic lilt practically melting your heart. 

“Stitches make not the surgeon, Vilkas! You'd piss yourself at the sight of a baby crowning,” You retorted. Surely you could gross him out.

“I'm well acquainted with female anatomy, however childbirth is above my wage grade,” he replied sitting back in his chair. You noticed he was still in his armor, the small wolf on his chest reflecting the flicking torchlight into your hazy eyes. 

“Well Mr. Well-Laid, do you have another bed to occupy, since I've taken residence in yours?” You jabbed playfully, the sharp glint in your eye purely joking. However, the way his head snapped to look at you, as if you’d sworn against Ysgrammor himself, had your lips pursing and your brows furrowed. His eyes darted across your face as if searching for a correct reply before he hastily spat out a question of what you could possibly mean by that.

You let out a light sigh through a tired smile. “Only that there of plenty of the shield-sisters, and a few shield-brothers honestly, that would be more than happy to share their bed with you.”

He let out a chuckle through his nose. “Don't forget you're the one in my bed, New Blood.”  
You playfully growled at the nickname he’d never dropped, even after the dragon born, and the several others that had followed his trail of destruction, had flooded the ranks of the companions. He called you that to get under your skin and it worked every time. You swatted at him and he caught your feeble swing by the wrist.

“You’ve known my name since you first trained me. Why must you plague me with all my achievements!” You groaned in faux frustration.

“Because, New Blood, you move like a newborn deer.” He replied with his ironically handsome wolfish grin. He still hadn't released your wrist and was now tracing the veins across your wrist and palm. You shivered at the contact. All of your senses were dulled except for your smell and sense of touch. 

“Well you could eat up a new born deer with a grin like that.”

He let out a scoff and lowered his blinding grin to a smirk. What shocked you was when he raised your hand to his cheek. His hand practically enveloped yours and his scent flooded the room. His eyes dropped shut at the contact. For a brief moment the entire room was still full only with the heat of candles and swelling confidence. You could feel the onset of his beard stubble against your calloused palm, the grit of the dried sweat and the grease of his war paint transferring into your finger prints, but what you could feel most was the gentle press of his lips against your wrist. You could feel your pulse quicken and your whole body heat up. He inhaled softly as you let in a sharp breath. His eyes were closed, but yours were glued to his features. You wanted to see the look in his piercing blue eyes. You needed to.

“I could, couldn't I?” His eyes met yours with that same hellfire and brimstone passion that burned when he was slashing into nay doers. 

You slid your hand across his cheek and behind his ear into his dark hair urging him towards you. He followed your guidance leaning towards you. You mirrored your other hand once he was in range and relished the feel of his course locks between the pads of your fingers. He reached to your chin to tilt your head towards his, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your jaw gently. You shivered again. He grinned at the implications of his effect on you.

“Well, go ahead then,” You whispered onto his lips once you could feel his breath washing over your face. You could barely breath and your body was positively humming at the wild scent in the room. Arousal and passion and a deep love all bubbling up to your skin from your very soul.  
He didn't hesitate in closing the gap between your lips, the intensity of it stealing your breath almost instantly. Your fingers tangled into his hair pulling his mouth closer to yours in an effort to be closer to him. He groans into your mouth in a guttural way that makes your thighs draw together, and he pulls away, leaving both of you gasping. Your hands slide around to cradle his head against you as his face sinks into the crevice of your neck.

“I'll share the bed if you don't pop my stitches, I don't want you jabbing me in the morning, once a moon is enough for me.”

He lets out a belly laugh at that, and crawls over you into the bed after shucking his armor, pulling you close and holding you gently as you both let the candle wicks burn down.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this shit cause there's no fucking vilkas/reader love anywhere this boy is under appreciated fuck me like damn  
> Love him
> 
> L o v e. H I M.


End file.
